The sudden burst of horror within her was similar to a man abruptly shouting in my ear in a frenzied panic. I visibly flinched from it, but in the same instance she was talking, hurried words of consolation, coming out in a jumble. I felt more than understood what it was she was attempting to say, that the size of the gifts did not mark their importance, but in truth I did not mean to make her pity my lame gift so much. In fact, I had said that as more of a joke than anything. Something to say, for I was all out of appropriate words of gratitude and felt I had needed to fill the silence in what ways I could.
I hadnât a clue as to how to quell her sudden concern, and yet, I also felt I did know, but refused to consider it. Common sense told me it was a risky idea; once bitten twice shy, and another kind of pensive anxiety bade me hesitation as I watched her flounder about with my bottles, plucking a crane from one. I watched her, rather than what she was doing, knowing a concoction of both simple adoration for her companionship, and fear of it together. Iâd not had a friend such as this in a while, I was socially unpractised.Â
The crane was empty, and in a way I was glad. It meant that I had an excuse to put my unspoken previous idea to action. I had no words to express my gratitude, something she had wrongly mistaken to be disinterest, perhaps, but I knew that it was not always the place for words to speak our minds.
âKrystal,â I said gently, and I smiled reassuringly as I pulled her forward into my hold. My arms snaked themselves around her and with her small body tucked in their grip I realized that I had put on muscle since our first encounter. I wondered briefly if she noticed that, and whether she felt at all safe in my embrace.
"Thank you, and for this wish I shall be honest and say that this is all I want," I hummed against her hair as it tickled beneath my chin. And it was true, the faintly familiar spark of our Skill link roared like wildfire in our touch but I did not shy from it, nor divulge in it. For that moment, I was simply hyper aware of the woman in my presence, her warmth, the always quietly hidden conflict of her thoughts and the simplicity of our newly forming friendship. It was both frightening and comforting and I did not know what would become of it.Â
Warmth. It was the first thing she noticed as soon as she realized what he was doing. He was so warm. Krystal felt nearly burned by the unexpected rush of heat that enveloped her body and left her frozen in his embrace. Of all the things sheâd expected from Fitz, this embrace was not one of them. It felt entirely too intimate for someone who made it a habit to avoid physical contact of any sort with anyone. Shock, however, began to bleed into her numbed senses at the tightening of his arms around her small frame and the subtle press of his body against hers. Her hands trembled at her sides, trapped. She didn't know what to do with them. Her mind was in shamblesâa drawn blankâas she struggled to suppress the automatic knee-jerk reaction to push him away.
It wasn't that she was disgusted or appalled by his brazen gesture. She just couldnât help but feel afraid of their close proximity. Krystal was never someone who was shown or given affection nor was she someone who actively reciprocated such a thing. She didn't know how. And still, she felt like a child. A child in need of some comfort, of some measure of reassurance. She felt entirely vulnerable in her rigid stance, shoulders shaking from the invisible weight of paranoia and fear. Fear for him, for her. For the both of them. She didn't want to hurt him. Never.Â
The sudden wetness in her eyes prompted her to blink rapidly, body shifting in the circle of his arms. She listened, a little dazed, as he began to speak; his voice serving as both a balm to the incessant buzzing in her mind and the scrambling of her nerves. For a moment, Krystal forced herself to stop thinking. Her arms rose on their own accord, slow and hesitant, and curled loosely around his lanky frame.Â
"Okay," she whispered into the fabric of his shirt. Her voice shook, wavering before she could even dared to project herself louder than a mere whisper. She was only grateful he couldnât see the flush of her cheeks and the unguarded look in her eyes. He would never know what this meant for her, this struggle to break out of her comfort zone and resist everything she was taught. Krystal didn't think she could ever tell him just how close she was to running away again. "Thank youâ" For everything. "âfor indulging me."
Why is it the one time he isnât looking for trouble, trouble somehow finds him? What god did he piss off in another life to deserve this kind of luck ( or rather, lack of it )? Heâs not sure how he manages to swerve out of the way at the last possible second, or how he accomplishes the task without flipping the Corvette at least once, but he does it and Kaiâs definitely not complaining; after all, murder is not high-up there on his list of things-to-accomplish. The car sits at an awkward angle - one wheel over the curb, the other three hanging off to rest on the asphalt, engine grumbling in protest - though it doesnât seem to have suffered much else from the less than graceful parking job.
He takes a moment to just sit there behind the wheel, trying to calm his nerves and get his breathing back to some semblance of normal. Now that the initial panic-induced adrenaline rush has started to wear off, he feels irritation quickly bubbling up to replace the jitters. âAre you out of your goddamn mind? Donât just stand around like some statue when a carâs coming you idiot!â the man snaps as he emerges from the driverâs side, rounding the stalled ZR-1 to approach the guilty figure frozen in the middle of the road. âYou wanna die fine, but do it on someone elseâs time, not mine!â
He hesitates as he draws closer, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. Thereâs something vaguely familiar about this womanâs face and Kaiâs almost sure heâs met her before somewhere, some time in the past. But as with everything concerning his memory, the image in his head is blurry at best and he canât really say he recognizes her. Stillâthe curiosity is enough to dull the edge of his anger and his voice is no longer raised when he addresses her again. âDo I know you?â
The crash didn't come. There was no crunch of metal denting under an unexpected mass of weight; no crack and splinter of bones crushed from the force of the anticipatory collision; no staggering pain rippled through her frozen body. Nothing. She felt nothing but the continuous trembling of her legs and the repeated clenching and unclenching of her gloved fingers.
He'd missed her.
Relief was only momentary, however, when she realized belatedly that she'd angered the driver behind the wheel. A tall, young man who seemed to be yelling at her. She heard nothing. Her ears still rung from the sudden squeal of rubber on dirty pavement. His lips moved and all that came out registered only as a garbled slew of words. Krystal watchedâsquinted at himâas his figure drew closer and closer. The dim streetlights provided barely any lighting to aid her in her attempt to see who it was that could've granted her a taste of death.
She stilled.
No. No...it couldn't be. Her lips parted as though she was going to voice her protests, articulate her denial, her innate desire, for the person standing in front of her to be truly who her subconscious wanted him to be. The burst of joy nearly propelled her forward, feet almost moving to meet him half wayâshe was so happy to see him. But she didn't. She stayed rooted in the middle of the street, illuminated in washed-out yellow lighting and gaped at him. Why? Why are you here? Why are you back? Where were you? And then anger swept her in waves and manifested in the tightening of her jaw, the closed fists at her side; transitioned into mild confusion in the knitting of her eyebrows, the rounding of her mouth, and the subtle tilt of her head as she swept blue eyes over his form. He was the spitting image ofâ
"Jongin,"Â she breathed, her voice loud amidst the emptiness of the streets. The possibility that this stranger was her missing best friend was slim to none. A seed of doubt lingered at the pit of her stomach, but was overrided by the tiny flicker of familiarity that forced her to close the distance between them. Krystal stumbled unsteadily towards him, gloved hands outstretched as if to embrace the male. To touch him. To reassure herself that he was real and not merely a figment of her imagination. "Jongin..." And there was worry, fear, joy mixed into the hushed whisper of his name, "I missed you..."
GO â Once you get this you have to say 5 nice things about yourself publicly and then send it to 10 of your favorite followers (not back to me, I did it already). Thinking good thoughts about yourself is hard but it will make you feel better so give it a go, for the sake of spreading positivity <3
[ Is this ic or ooc ;n; /does both ]
IC:
Deep down, I think I have the capacity to love and show affection to those I care about. In due time, I suppose, Iâd be a little less afraid.
I am book-smart and like to believe that all the knowledge Iâve gleaned from age old books and web documents is useful. I think I do a good job in applying what I know and have learned through reading and various experiences to my daily life. But implementation is not always something book-smart people can accomplish, given certain areas and fields. Being a little more street-smart and improvisational would certainly help me in the near future.Â
I may not be veryâŠsociable, but given time, I do try to integrate myself into my workplace (at least, I did). Itâs not a skill I can honestly say Iâve honed, despite my teachings as a child, but no oneâs perfect. Pretentious congeniality is not the same as being genuine. I would like to think I can be genuine when I want to be.
 I am strong. I am strong. I am strong. Mentally, emotionally, and physically. There is nothing I cannot overcome given perseverance and passion. And time. Always time.
But I do not have enough time. Never enough. I have time. I always have time. Because Iâm young. (But not infallible. No one is.)
OOC:
Iâve been told I make a very nice armrest for tall people u.u (I would also like to thank those who like to tuck me under their arm and pretend I'm a football e n e; /much sarcasm)
When I say Iâm there for you, I mean it. I donât care if you call or text me at 4am because you canât sleep or are feeling upset and lonely and want someone to talk to. I will stay up to talk to you until you fall asleep or feel better. If you live near me, even better. I will hang up on you, but Iâll show up outside your home with a giant tub of ice cream, a ginormous bag of snacks, and a cardboard box of disney movies uwu;
Iâm a pretty good listener, I think. Maybe not always the best advice giver because there are some things that I really donât know or have experience with, so itâs always hard for me to give insight. But I listen, and I will always listen, and try my best to cheer people up when theyâre feeling down?
I care a lot. Probably too much. Iâm overly affectionate sometimes with those I love and care about. Itâs something I think can be smothering, and Iâve been trying to tone it down a lot recently because well- it hurts a lot when people accuse me of being fake, even though Iâm being genuine and this is just how I am. Sometimes saying âI love youâ and âIâm always here for youâ is just my way of telling people I care in the most obvious way. Iâve always thought people would rather hear it every so often (be it as a reminder or not) than not hear it from me and think I feel otherwise. Idks I just like being upfront about my feelings???
I am really really really easy to please. Not gonna lie. I donât expect people to talk to me 24/7 or ask me how I am all the time. Iâm capable of giving people space when they need it. But really, all it takes is a âhiâ or even a âI miss youâ or âthis reminded me of youâ or just a âhey wassuuuuuup how u doin eue;â in inbox, aim, skype or even kkt and I will smile because youâll make my day.
(I try to do this every once in a while since nowadays Iâve been prone to disappear for days so I know how it feels. Friendship is a give and take relationship. It is a see-saw; a balance. Too much and you will suffocate the other person. Too little and you may run the risk of putting distance between the both of you that canât be breached if too much time passes. Iâm not perfect. And there have been instances when I didnât practice what I just preached and lost friends (I blame myself entirely), but Iâm working on it. Showing my appreciation and gratitude to those who have continued to stay by my side and believed in me, that is. I try to stay in contact not out of obligation, but out of love. Happiness has two âpâsâ right? Happiness is achieved when there are at least two people. At least, thatâs my philosophy hehe.)Â
His bones ignite with the dying colours of the meteorite as it sinks to the bottom of the ocean. The abyss of the endless sea; a realm of the fishes and more to see; a place of mysterious mermaids and wicked sea witches; a fairy tale; a home of the fishes and a coffin of the constellation. Something so wonderful with the bewitching, wicked fingers wrapped around the Earth like a ring around the other planets. The Earth rotates and revolves around the sun and the sea fills itâs hard core with a softness of mother nature. It fills itself with the vast seven seas, then lakes, the rivers â waterfalls of nymphs dripping down like an hour glass running out of time. Mother nature continued to cry and cry until her sorrows were realized and weeped by the people too. She cried until she created creatures of one cell, of many cells, of millions and millions of cells..
ăYou got lucky with Luhan. Let's not get cocky now. ă
Resentment dripped from her words and while Krystal longed to smile victoriously at her one successful attempt to regain control through aggression, she knew that K was right. She had been lucky. She knew the next time she lost control, there would be dire consequences.Â
ăYou should do well to remember that I am stronger than you, Soojung. If it wasn't for me, you would've been dead a long time ago and a hundred times over. Do not forget, dearest, you and Iâwe are one and the same. ă
She shuddered then; a slow, involuntary tremor that traveled from the bony curve of her shoulders, down the rigid length of her spine, to her trembling legs. K's matter-of-fact and borderline arrogant declaration upset her. The nonchalant reminder did nothing but eat away at her subconscious like acid on an empty stomach and yet, Yixing's voice managed to elicit an entirely different reaction: fear. Complete and unsolicited fear.
She froze like a deer caught in headlights, her stomach clenching painfully and her mouth going dry. "Of innocence. Of secrecy," Krystal managed after struggling for the right words to articulate the massive jumble of thoughts amidst a tsunami of warring emotions, "I prefer to think white roses to be symbolic of more than just purity simply because of its color. Withered white roses could then be easily translated to a loss of innocence and a loss of secrecy. As for cherry blossoms...as beautiful as they are, don't you think they're fragile? Fragile beauty and quick death, how morbidâmuch like one's mortality, no? Cherry blossoms: the transience of life. How fitting..."Â How sad.
Even sadder was the way her lips curled upward in a hint of a smile at the sound of his name. Zhang Yixing. Finally, she could put a name to the kind, genial face before her. "Yixing," his name rolled off her tongue a little awkwardly. The two syllables sounded peculiar. Foreign. Neither Korean nor Western. But fitting. "A beautiful name for an equally inquisitive and eloquent speaker. You're intriguing, Zhang Yixing. You're quite unlike anyone I've everâ"
Her breath caught in her throat and she nearly choked at the unexpected stutter in his voice, her tired eyes rounding in both surprise and terror. His question hung like a proverbial noose, nearly forgotten and left unanswered in the midst of her stagnant train of thought. She very nearly blurted out a garbled version of excuse me? when her hands began to shake. K was stirring, fully awake now, and very, very interested. Liquid fire lit its way through her veins and the scorching heat forced her body to almost curl in on itself. As though the very action could somehow contain the poisonous existence that was K. But Krystal knew, she knew, from the way her inside burned that it was only a matter of time before she would lose what little control she had left.Â
ăSoojung~ I'm going to play with him. ă
No. I absolutely refuse.Â
The knowing laughter that rang loud and clear told her that K didn't give a damn what she thought. The accompanying flicker of something entirely foreboding and altogether icy cold rendered her immobile for all of two seconds before her eyes flashedâblue to silver, silver to blue. It was a battle of will now. And Krystal...she was barely winning by sheer determination alone.Â
ăI'm not asking for your permission. ă
Don't do anything. Don't ruin this for me. Please. Justâdon't.Â
ăWhy? Why should I listen to you? Is it because you now know his name? Having a pretty name to go with his pretty face would make you feel guilty, wouldn't it? Especially since you never forget anyone who manages to get you to open up. Is that it? Are you afraid I'll do something to your little friend? Aw, you think so lowly of me. ă
Krystal was terrified. There was too much sarcasm in K's words. She was talking too much. Taunting, baiting, provoking her. All of which were simply a means to distract her because for all her efforts, Krystal's eyes still closed involuntarily as she struggled to control her breathing. Fairytale. Think fairytale. Answer his question, Soojung. Answer him.
ăThere's no prince in your life, sweetheart. You're no princess. And no one will ever care enough to rescue you from the dangers of wicked witches, evil stepmothers and ferocious dragons. Why would they? You are a tragedy waiting to happen. ă
Stop it.
ăYour mother left you, so did your father. They lied to you, didn't they? They weren't your real parents. But you didn't care. You still don't. You love them anyway. What of your real mother, hm? Gone too. No memories. Nothing. And you didn't even find out until you read Doctor's journals. Death again, how unfortunate. Your sister? Where is she? Here one second, gone the next. Oh! And Jae, you remember him, right? He held your hand that night. Before everything went wrong. Before he vanished. Before I was born. Before Doctor ever actually gave a damn about you. Your own father, Soojung. Our father. He doesn't love you. Why should he? I mean, look at you. You're pathetic. If I didn't save you time and time again, he would've terminated youâusâthe first time you dared defy him. You owe me, Soojung. And you will for the rest of your life. ă
Shutupshutupshutup! But it was no use. The rusted metal fell and the eerie creak of a rickety gate opened in her mind's eye. Her eyes snapped open and she stared at him, blue eyes now dominated by a glimmer of eerie silver. His brown eyes were warm, friendly and inviting. If eyes were the windows to one's soul, Yixing would surely possess a good one. But in the mirror reflection of his eyes, she saw nothing but the evil lurking beneath the very skin of her own body. It was like peering into the looking glass, but unlike Alice, Krystal knew that once she fell, the journey back out would be so long and utterly painful. Still, she stared and stared and stared.Â
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
ăTick tock goes the clock. It's my turn to play. ă
And then she fell.
"Fairytales, you say?" The smirk that graced her tear-streaked face was at odds with the deadly glint in her silver eyes. "I can't say I have one. I was never one for fiction and fantasy. Why bother when you could recreate those storiesâtwist the words, change the characters, ditch the morality. Why settle for someone else's stories when I could easily write my own?"
(/just the statement alone makes the older raise a brow, but she leaves that part of the conversation hanging because itâs too unprofessional to discuss now that theyâre in a client-employee relationship. Though the curiosity nags her, Skye pushes it away to give the other female a few pamphlets, each explaining a different concept in text that the brokerâs lips do.) It depends on what type of investment. In whole life insurance, the policy will pay a certain, fixed amount at your death. (/flicking her eyes upward once to see if her client is following along, Skye continues speaking.) I will admit though, that a life insurance type of investment is very expensive. If you donât have too much money right now, a protection policy might be your best bet if you are really adamant about purchasing insurance.
{ `she doesn't pay much attention to the pamphlets; her entire focus fixated on the woman seated across the desk from herâon her words, on the stiff, polite way she addressed her. } I'll go ahead and pick the whole life insurance. Money isn't an issue. { `she's not too sure picking the latter would make a difference. what she's worried about isn't being unable to pay for life insurance, but whether or not having one would even make a difference. she'd never really contemplated the aftermath of her death and the likelihood of it affecting anyone. but here she is...} Is there a certain one that I should think about purchasing? Say, if I were to die as a result of a tragic accident involving a vehicle collision, by fire, by drowning...What if my cause of death isn't ruled an accident, is there a difference? Should I just buy them all? Iâ { `she cuts herself off then; a short burst of laughter spilling out of her lips unexpectedly. } I'm sorry. I'm being ridiculous, aren't I?
I maintained the companionable silence of the elevator without coaxing, not oblivious to thick coat if tension between it. Whilst a weight seemed to lift from her shoulders and relaxation radiated from her slumped position against the wall, I could not shake the immediate pensiveness her previous jest had given me. Of course, she had no true reason to doubt me, and I would not jeopardise her safety, however the very notion of me being monstrous and a murderer were too close to the mark for me to be entirely comfortable that she should even voice a joke of it. My silence was a bitter one, though not directed at her.
I realised then that I had had no intentions of lying to her. She was disconnected from the murderous life I had lived, and for that she offered me solace and normality in her friendship. I had not thought I would have reason to lie about who I was, for why should the topic of my beastly assassinations ever be enquired? I knew, in spite of the sudden surge of disappointment in who I was, she neednât know of it. There was still no reason for her to know exactly what she was inviting into her home; a bitter sweet realisation. It came quickly, and so I let none of my tension show. Instead I laughed heartily at her joke, and leant against the wall of the elevator as she did, relaxing my limbs to appear at ease.
My apprehension only grew as the doors opened. Dog claws clacked noisily against the marble flooring, leaving a trail of prints alongside my heavy booted ones. I felt like a child, dragging crayons along a newly painted wall and evidently out of place. I was relieved when she halted at her door, lest someone cuff me for being such a messy pup, and followed her in with my head bent down. Our paw prints led straight to her door and I quietly hoped that there would be no trouble for that matter.
âThank you,â I answered courteously, my guilt at spoiling her pleasant apartment with wet dog stench growing by the minute. I waited until she had disappeared from sight to find the towels before letting my eyes wander, unwinding her scarf from my neck as though it were my own, with an idleness as I gawked at her home. A pang of jealousy hit me briefly; a gentle reminder to consider settling into a home of my own here in Seoul.
âThis is a nice home,â I remarked as loudly as my dainty voice would assert, for her to hear from whatever room she had ducked into. I fiddled with her scarf in my hands, still feeling very much like a child, but Spock was less concerned, he trotted into her living room and immediately sprawled himself by the first radiator he sought. Were I not in the company of a lady, I would have joined him there, but I contented myself with the warmth of his presence that thrummed in the link between us. The towel seemed increasingly inviting and I wondered at her haste in running off to get them. I knew the sincerity of her concern, but part of me wondered if she feared me dripping all over her home.
His words came muffled, echoed, as she rummaged in the linen closet just down the hall from the living room for a stack of new towels. And she stilled, a flurry of words tinged with polite denial and obligatory rejection of his compliment bubbling in her throat. She did not voice them, however. She had no reason to. After all, she did not think herself worthy of receiving such a praise when she had never considered her dreary apartment with its barren walls and lackluster furniture her home. With a small shake of her head and a weary sigh, she grabbed three neatly folded towels and padded back into the living room.
Krystal didnât fail to notice Spock coiled on top of her radiator and the near silent drip drip of water running off damp fur and forming a puddle beneath his swaying tail. The sight was oddly domestic and brought a tender smile to her face. âThank you,â she answered him softly as she draped a swath of baby blue cotton over Spock's body and began rubbing gently, tentatively as though she was afraid Spock would resist a stranger's touch. Sheâd responded out of mere acknowledgment, thinking it rude to brush of his comment, and hoped he could not hear the trace of dissatisfaction in her voice. âItâs really not much.â
It really wasn't. No pictures, no mementos, no odd knickknacks to commemorate important events or document what shouldâve been a pretentiously happy life she lived. There was nothing, but off-white walls surrounding the one-bedroom apartment and an assortment of mismatched furniture sheâd bought as a means to uphold her facade. What she'd meant to say was: This will never be home.
Krystal cleared her throat quietly and gestured for him to take a seat on the couch. âPlease sit.â She said, stepping gingerly over the growing puddle and offering him one of the towels. âHere, dry off before you get sick. Iâm sorry I donât have a dryer available for you to use. I donâtâ" she paused, voice catching out of embarrassment, "I donât have clothes for you to change into. Iâm sorry."
I couldnât really be sure whether she was telling me not to walk her home or simply being polite. I could tell that she meant her words, that she truly did not need me to walk her home, and for a moment I floundered silently as my resolve softened. Perhaps she had grown tired of my lingering silences, the odd avoidances of answering her questions directly, the constant hum of tension of knowing bits and pieces of each others secrets yet, still, we were strangers who had only just met. I had waded through our meeting like a man deep in his ale, yet the only intoxication I had had was heavy conversation and the skill. I had scarcely realised we had walked in silence, mulling and dwelling on this and therefore forgetting to answer her entirely, that is, until she broke it with her own musing.Â
âHuh? Oh,â I blinked, batting my lashes against the rain as if noticing it for the first time. Spock trotted less purposefully now, and more begrudgingly against the turning weather. My awareness expanded and yet I could not begin to decipher why she asked about the rain. I wasnât all sure I wanted to, rather I was quite shaken by our accidental Skill link and I did not want to tempt disaster by pressing too closely to her mind. âYes, yes the rain is quite refreshing,â I replied unsteadily and looked forward, easily matching longer strides to meet her quickened pace, briefly thinking of the times I had worn the rain without a shelter. âThough, it can be cold sometimes,â I amended.
I had not thought that she would dare to touch me again, and yet before I could understand what she was doing, she had hold of my wrist. I tensed, expecting an onslaught of her thoughts in my mind, yet my fears were not realised. There was a subtle spark, as if someone had lit a candle in her thoughts amidst the blackness of the storm, but it was thin and I only managed to catch the flickering of her thoughts. Nothing precise, but still, a slight more enlightening to the usual. I felt her recognition as she saw the doors, and then I looked for myself to see them with my own eyes. Her offer came as a small surprise.
âYou are truly inviting a stranger and his wet dog into your home?â I chuckled incredulously as we stopped, lifting an eyebrow. âYou know, the smell is incredibly hard to get rid of,â I pointed out light heartedly, and yet I kept a certain level of real concern in my comment because I was not entirely sure if she was still only being polite. The warmth of a home was be an offer I found hard to refuse, however, and I could not keep the hopefulness out of my questioning look in the brief moment of our pause.Â
But the road was soon clear for us to cross and I followed her across it, mindful of the way the rain ran streams down my face and threatened my vision at the corners of my eyes. By the time we had met the inviting glass doors to her building, I felt as if I had ran through a waterfall rather than rain fall and perhaps that was the problem. People always say you shouldnât run through rain. Spock shook out his fur, little droplets of water shaking loose and spraying me pointlessly for I was already soaked. I passed my sodden glance to Krystal, waiting for her reassurance that it was alright for me to come inside.
His spontaneous burst of laughter caught her off guard and for a moment, Krystal had to wonder if she was truly out of her mind for voicing such a ludicrous suggestion. Any sane young woman would be wary and mindful of the kinds of connotations such an offer elicited. But Krystal was never really one to heed social conventions. What kind of person would she be to turn him and Spock away when the weather was like this? A horrible one, no doubt. She couldn't on good conscience do that to him. She had many faults, but needlessly cruel was not one of them. In the past, hospitality was but a means for her to lure hapless victims into her home and sentence them to an early death. But not today. Today, hospitality would be benign and sincere.
"Yes, I am." Definitive. Firm. And entirely resolute in her decision. The soft chuckle that escaped her lips was one of amusement. "Should I be afraid of you, Fitz? Should I be cautious and assume you harbor ill intentions and intend to take advantage of me?" She shook head and crossed the street, strides long and brisk. "I'm not afraid, even though every rational part of me is telling me that I'm being utterly naive right now. But I gave you a choice, didn't I? I'm allowing myself to be vulnerable to you, a stranger. Should you really be monstrous orâfor argument's sakeâa mass murderer, I have no one to blame, but myself."
Her hair was matted and her clothes soaked through by the time they made it across the barren streets and into the warmth sanctuary that was the lobby of her apartment complex. Krystal was aware of the critical, slightly disapproving stare from the doorman sitting primly behind his desk, and offered nothing but a mere dip of head in acknowledgement and an apologetic smile. She'd never brought friends overâlet alone a man and a wet dog. Not since she moved here a couple of months ago. She was sure the old man was well aware of that fact, given the amount of whole-hearted needling that followed after her every time she exited and entered the building alone and without company. He meant well, she was certain. Either that or he was genuinely about to scold her for the trail of water they left behind as the pair passed him on the way to the line of elevators.
Only when the elevator doors slid shut did she allow the smile to drop from her face and lean back heavily against the wall. It was only a brief moment's reprieve; a minute of unsolicited peace, but she allowed herself to drop her guards. Just for a little bit. The silence was uncomfortable, but she made no move to shatter it with her nonsensical musings. The ding of the elevator arriving on her floor jolted her out of her reverie and she gestured with a tilt of her head for him to follow, sodden shoes squeaking loudly against the polished marble floors.
"Home sweet home," she murmured beneath her breath. It took her more than two tries to punch in her four digit passcode, smiling when it finally let out a resounding beep and opened the door wide. "It's not much, but please come in. I'll go get you and Spock some towels. I wouldn't want either of you to fall ill. Feel free to make yourself at home."
I think this was the first time since coming to Seoul that a shred of my pride battered at my conscience to lie to anyone about where it was I lived. The answer was simple: nowhere. I had once been a man full of weighty pride, and the lifestyle I was now leading had forced me to shred this: I had, had no concerns with admitting that I kept no stable roof above my head for it was a choice Iâd made rather than an infliction of poverty. But how I could tell Krystal I was nothing but a mere vagrant on her streets without lessening her opinion of me seemed impossible, and yet I had few better truths to admit to her.
The headache bought on my by unintended use of the Skill throbbed with a surge of more pain as I dwelt on her very ordinary and simple question, and still I could not help but to reflect on the drift of her thoughts I had been so privy to. I found myself thinking towards her, and although she no longer touched me, I could still feel a weak and thin attachment to her. It thrummed with the cloudy haze of her thoughts, none of which I could decipher so clearly as I had before, and yet my awareness of her was piqued and tangible. I struggled to discern what she was feeling now; it felt like sorrow. Concern. I would have apologised to her in that moment, and reassured her that my atrocious response was not her fault nor anything to worry about, but it fluttered by too quickly in the midst of our conversation. Instead, I was left with the guilt of both imposing myself into her private feelings and that of whatever my actions had left her to think.
I realised then that I had hesitated for quite a long few seconds, frowning away at my thoughts, and mentally kicked myself for being so clumsy. I had no way to recover from that delay, and so I lifted my chin a touch and twisted my mouth into an enigmatic smile. âWhere I live is not the current concern; I asked you only because I wish to walk you home now, for it is getting late and this wind is strong, I think there may be a storm coming tonight,â I nodded confidently in the hopes that whatever my pause had caused her to think would be dismissed, and gave Spock a brief pat on the head. Fleetingly, I wondered where I would sit out this storm tonight.
But I could not allow the conversation to sit too long on the matter of homes or such subjects. Almost immediately, as to prevent her from continuing that topic, I directed my attention to the continuous clinking within her bags. âWhat is that?â I nodded with my chin towards her hands.
If Krystal was truly petty, she would've scoffed at his rather subtle effort to shy away from giving her a concrete answer. But she was not. And while she recognized that she may have touched upon a sensitive topic, she knew when not to push. Whatever it was that he refused to divulge didn't matter as much as his well-being. She nodded as she took his words in stride, face turned towards the dark sky.
"Ah, but if you need to be on your way, please don't let me hinder you. I'll be quite fine walking on my own. Being outside this late is a frequent occurrence and while I appreciate your kindness, I can take care of myself. Besides, I quite like storms. I'm not the least bit afraid."
Of course, she wasn't. She'd been taught to overcome all her childish fears long before she could fully understand the notion of being fearless. Things like storms did not bother her; for they were natural. Disorder, chaos, in its natural state. And for someone as unnatural as Krystal, she'd always held a secret longing and appreciation for all things happening accordingly without interferenceâbe it man-made or not. Storms, to her, were but foreboding cries. Of what? She wasn't entirely sure. She supposed it was Mother Nature's desperate cry for all the corruption and catastrophe occurring in varying degrees around the dying, decaying world. A cry of horror, of anger, at being the only eyewitness to the utter despicable nature that is mankind. To be unable to rectify the sins humanity has committed and watch as we plundered and set fire to the earth. God, it must be painful for her to watch. And equally horrifying for her to retaliate.
Krystal smiled and extended a hand out in front of her, watching with keen interest as a drop of water made contact with the leather of her gloves. Ah...the skies were crying again. Mother Nature must be devastated. "Fitz..." her voice was soft, plaintive. Eerily curious. Her footsteps never faltering as she tilted her head to glance at him, blue eyes surprisingly clear, even through the thin sheen of translucent silver. "Do you like the rain?"
She didn't wait for a response and quickened her pace, paying heed to the increasing pitter patter of downpour. While she could last hours out in the cold, wet rain, she was still mindful of the fact that Fitz may be ill. And it was with increased concern did she dare to reach out with her free hand and curl her fingers tentatively around his wrist, pulling him with her as the sight of glass doors materialized in the distance.
"A project," she answered quietly as she stopped at the corner of the street, feet shifting restlessly in an attempt to prevent herself from jaywalking. They were nearly home. But the pelting rain hadn't ceased and the cold was beginning to seep through her wet clothes. She didn't think Fitz nor Spock was faring any better and that made her anxious. "I can show you if you'd like, but first, we need to get to shelter. If you're not in a hurry, you're welcome to come in and dry yourself," she glanced at Spock and smiled gently, "and Spock until the storm passes."
Hope, a heart breaking essence of something so pure, it could never be reached. People gaze at the stars. They make wishes. They cry under the stars. Make love. Fight. Die. Die. Oh, and they reach for the stars. Die. And [ hope ] to touch them one day. Die. But they can never reach something so beautiful (like diamonds in the skies, shining with an iridescent glow) because itâs too far away. Stars are like hope because it only gives disappointment. At least it gave. The thought of stars (constellations in this case) made his stomach churn. The other half Ziyi never gave. He only took. And took.
Krystal waited patiently while the male before her seemed to succumb to the rampant musings of his own mind. Oh, how harrowing and intriguing his thoughts must be! She didnât think her innocuous question merited such deep contemplation. He lookedâdare she say it?âconflicted, words probably lost somewhere in the cacophony of his own mind. Or so it seemed. So she sat in silence; it was all she could do. The quiet murmurings drifting from the sparse customers seated a distance away from their secluded corner became her only company. But she didnât mind. Such an eloquent, yet strange conversation deserved a modicum of privacy. Serenity settled in like a second skin as seconds, minutes, passed before he deigned to speak. And when he did, Krystal listened; the corners of her lips tilted upwards in slight rapture.Â
Are you sure? The question lingered at the precipice of her tongue, a knee-jerk response to his steady string of words. If the camera doesnât capture the moment, what does? Is that not the function of the very device? But she refrained from speaking too soon; a quick bite to the inside of her cheek kept her tongue in check and simply waited for him to finish. He deserved patience. After all, he hadn't interrupted her when sheâd gone off on a spiel just moments before. Instead, she leaned forward, head inclined and basked in his verbal stream of consciousness.
Thereâs nothing disgusting about intellectual conversation. Heâs very articulate and interesting. Thereâs nothing wrong with a man who's not afraid to speak his mind. And really, Iâm surprised you even care.
ăLike I said, heâs just like you. It means heâs fodder for me. Please, I know youâre not that simple-minded. Do you really need me to spell it out for you?ă
You wouldnât.
ăYou know I would, dearest. It isn't the first time I stole someone of significance from you. And it wonât be the last. It amuses me when you lose control, but also sickens me to know itâs them you care about. You do not have time to dawdle with these fools. Or have you forgotten what youâd vowed? Have you forgotten your precious sister, Soojung? What has become of her, hm? Do you know? Oh right, you donât. Because the day she vanished, you were off on your little rendezvous. You left your sister. Alone, vulnerable. You left her. Looks like Iâm not the only monster here. ă
Krystalâs eyes narrowed considerably, expression darkening just a fraction before she managed to compose herself somewhere between it doesnât show our whole selves and it does not define me. While she showed no other indication that what K had said bothered her deeply, the pain she felt from the way her gloved fingers dug into her palms said otherwise. But she refused to give K a reaction; she refused to allow Kâs word to provoke her into making a mistake. K wanted her to lose control, but Krystal was stubborn enough to resist. She was relatively calm by the time he finally gave her his answer: no one sees the human face correctly. Sheâd been hoping he would say that. Otherwise, there was no way she couldâve been able to convince herself. She needed to hear it from someone else.
"You flatter me. Iâm not worthy of such praise. My mind, you see, is nothing like you imagine. It is not beautiful; it is not ugly. It is everything and nothing in between. Would you call a labyrinth beautiful? Perhaps, if you were looking at the intricate structure from above or from an outsiderâs perspective. But what of the person who has been put into the endless maze with no ball of red string to guide her on her way out? I donât think beautiful would be the word sheâd use.â Horrifying. Grotesque. Those were the very words sheâd murmured to herself when sheâd built the very thing for the haunting entity occupying her mind. Beautiful? K didnât care for such things. It was only fitting to shroud herâshroud herselfâ in such dark atrocities.
She shook her head, a wry smile curling at the corners of her lips. Sheâd meant for it to be reassuring, as if telling him that she meant no harm in rebuking him in this way. But so passionate was she about her own words, her own telling analogy, that she could barely mask the utter desperation in her tone. A plea to listen to her. Truly listen. How long had it been since sheâd had such a stimulating conversation? Not very often. If ever. Never had anyone, a stranger no less, cared enough to speak with her about such mundane things. ThisâŠcasual exchange of genuine opinion and cohesive thought was fun. Even if his seemingly innocuous questions prompted her to reply with personal, verging on deeply sincere answers.
ăI should snap his neck right now. Who gives a shit what your favorite flower is. Tell him itâs roses or daisies. Shut him up before I do it myself.ă
Krystal didnât bother answering her. So lost was she in the sudden myriad of memories playing on backward reel. Flowers. How long has it been since sheâd been asked that question? Too long. But she remembered it like it was yesterday. She was six years old then. She felt six years old now.
(âHello, mister. Would you like a flower?â
"Ah, for me? What a lovely daisy. Did you pick it yourself?"
"Doctor told me I could. But he said I had to give one to someone nice. Are you nice, mister?"
"I suppose I am." The man with the bright smile and dazzling eyes looks down at her in amusement, one foot over the threshold of the Manor. "You gave me a flower. That must mean you think Iâm nice, right?"
Heâs still smiling even as the door swings shut behind him and the lights go out. He doesnât even jump when a gentle tug on his hand has him squatting down to eye level before the little girl with the twin braids and haunting silver-blue eyes drops the bundle of white daisies and wraps tiny, tiny hands around his neck. And squeezes.
"Doctor says nice people donât deserve to live," she whispers, fingers probing, sliding to rest precariously over his thrumming pulse. "He says I should kill them all. I have five minutes. Do you have five minutes, mister?"
The man chokes, body convulsing as he tries to open his mouth to answer. To scream. To beg. But it wouldnât matter. The walls are soundproof and thereâs nobody around for miles. Nobody hears him gag when she presses the pads of her cold, cold fingers hard against his throat.
Nobody hears him gasp his last shuddering breath.
Nobody but the little girl who had thought he was nice and chose him to die.
"Two minutes thirty seconds. Eight seconds slower than your last. Youâre slacking."
"Iâm sorry."
"Again. I want you to breach the two minute mark by tonight or you wonât get to eat."
"Yes, Doctor."
She picks up the fallen daisies, white petals already withering; tips crushed by the impact of fallen dead weight, and trudges outside in search of nice people.
She doesnât get to eat that night. Or the night after that. Or the night after that. And alone she sits in the dark, stuffy prison that is her room chained to the bed with only the glowing moon and the quiet, oh so quiet deadness of rotting corpses for company.)
Krystal blinked out of the memories with a sharp intake of breath, shaken and worn ragged. It wouldâve been better had she said I donât have one but sheâd been cursed with the slip of tongue since sheâd ventured into this quaint restaurant. It was as if she couldnât stop herself. And out tumbled lie number one. âWhite roses and cherry blossoms.â The hollow tone in her voice gave her away. The sudden shift of her body away from the table was hint number two. The lingering wetness in her eyes and the methodic tap tap tap of her fingers hints three and four.
She said nothing for a minute, two. And then, she sighed. âWhatâs your name?â If she was going to be this talkative, she might as well address him by name instead of calling him stranger in her head. It seemed rude and only fair given the extent of their conversation. Sheâd like to know to whom she was being marginally honest with. âMy name is Krystal. What should I call you?â
People are so vulnerable at night. Theyâre willing to spill out their souls to anyone willing to listen. They have desires to do things that never cross their mind when the sun is in the sky.
The clinking of bottles was unmistakeable as they clattered together in my palms. I could feel them through the material of the bag before she even explained them.
âBut, Krystal⊠white day, I thought it was meant only for men to give gifts, I wasnât expecting you to do anything for me, least of all ⊠this,â my reaction came out in an uncertain tumble of words. In truth, I was afraid with every word that leaked out of me I might break down into tears, for never had I received such a carefully crafted and thoughtful gift. I was quite literally choked up, and it was something I had not felt so positively before. I took several minutes of forced silence before I could bring out the appropriate words I wished to say, and still, as I spoke them, they did little to convey what it meant to me. I only hoped she would hear in my voice what it was I truly meant to convey.
âThe feather is beautiful,â I murmured, spinning the vial containing it between my fingers, watching it catch the light of the moon above us and cast several different colours nestled within each strand. I watched it with fascination; there was no way to tell her what this was to me. My hand automatically went to the feather that remained always in my ear; she had noticed it? âI once collected feathers, this is all I had left of that collection,â my fingers stroked down the length of my earring, my eyes still trained on the vial before I shyly took them to meet Krystalsâ. They lingered there only for a fleeting moment before turning back down to the bag. I felt oddly vulnerable.
I have no idea if I stared into the bag for a matter of minutes or hours. I battled constantly with myself on what it was I wanted to say to express how touched I was, but there was nothing I could say or do to express it. I would have embraced her, but I feared to touch her lest I accidentally provoke my erratic Skill again and I did not wish to taint this moment.
Instead, after a long pause, the only thing I could think to say was âmy chocolates suddenly seem like such a small gift.â
Of course she knew that White Day was typically reserved for men and that it was uncommon for women to give gifts. But she also knew that she'd foregone the saccharine holiday that was Valentine's Day and had missed her opportunity to gift something to him. Gift-giving, to her, was a foreign concept and while she did not practice it often (if ever), she had thought his kind gesture was worthy of reciprocation. It wasn't obligation that compelled her to spend the entire night and some hours in preparation for his gift, it was simply gratitude. It still amazed her to think that on a day such as this, he'd thought of her. And that alone was more than enough.
Krystal could only smile at him, expression awash with suppressed amusement and delight. "I know, but there's no rule prohibiting men from receiving gifts, is there? Besides, the element of surprise makes it all the better for me since I hadn't expected you to gift me anything either."
"Do you like it?" She was a little nervous, worried that maybe her gift might be a little too much. A burden. "I won't ask you what became of the collection, but I hope one day you'll be able to start it again. A new collection for a new beginning, right?"
She was babbling now, becoming more and more unsure of herself as Fitz lapsed into prolonged silence once more. Tension lined her shoulders and rendered her posture rigid as she waited with bated breath for him to speak, gloved fingers fidgeting at her sides. But when he did, Krystal could barely contain the spontaneous burst of horror at his words. "Whatâno! No gift is small, Fitz. In all honesty, I really appreciate the gesture. Thank you, really. I'mâ"
Oh, what to do? What to do? Krystal felt she needed to appease whatever it was he was feeling and so with clumsy fingers, she dipped her hand into the bag and pulled out a tiny bottle. The quiet pop of the cork was loud, drowned out by the rapid thudding of her own heart; the crinkling of paper unfolding even louder. "Here!" She held the paper up and hoped that she'd picked something encouraging, something funny. Anything that would help banish the awkward silence. What she didn't realize was that the first bottle of luck opened contained a wordless crane: wish number one.
1. Smoking:Â the action or habit of inhaling and exhaling the smoke of tobacco or a drug.
2. Binge drinking:Â the consumption of an excessive amount of alcohol in a short period of time.
3. Drug abuse: the habitual taking of illegal drugs.
4. Nail biting: a common body language sign of anxiety/tension.
5. Lip biting: a common body language sign of anxiety/tension.
6. Night Owl:Â a person who is habitually active or wakeful at night.
7. Early bird:Â a person who rises, arrives, or acts before the usual or expected time.
8. Negative attitudes: a philosophy of approaching life with criticism and pessimism.
9.Positive attitudes:Â a philosophy of approaching life with optimism and confidence.
10.Swearing:Â the use of offensive language.
11. Superstitious:Â an irrational belief that an object, action, or circumstance not logically related to a course of events influences its outcome.
12.Inspecting fingernails: a common body language sign of boredom
13. Scratching your neck: a common body language sign of uncertainty.
14. Foot and finger tapping: a common body language sign of stress/impatience.
15. Nose touch: a subtle body language sign of deceit.
16. Flipping hair: a common body language sign of craving attention.
17. Twirling hair: a common body language sign of flirtation.
18. Cracking knuckles: a common body language sign of readiness.
19. Hands behind back: a common body language sign of confidence.
20. Finger pointing: a common body language sign of authority.
21. Hands on hips: a common body language sign of readiness.
22: Hands in pockets:Â a common body language sign of mistrust/reluctance.
23. Frequent touch: a common body language sign of warmth/familiarity.
24. Throat-clearing:Â a common body language sign of rejection/doubt.
25: Jaw-clenching: a common body language sign of hostility.
26: Eye-rolling: a common body language sign of irritation.
27: Head-tilt:Â a common body language sign of interest.
28. Whistling: to emit high-pitched sound by forcing breath through a small hole between oneâs lips or teeth; usually to a tune.
29. Humming:Â make a low, steady continuous sound like that of a bee; usually to a tune.
30. Perfectionism:Â refusal to accept any standard short of perfection.
31. Photographic memory:Â the ability to remember information or visual images in great detail.
32. Paranoia:Â a mental condition characterized by delusions of persecution, unwarranted jealousy, or exaggerated self-importance, typically worked into an organized system.
33. Exaggeration:Â a statement that represents something as better or worse than it really is.
34: Intuitive:Â using or based on what one feels to be true even without conscious reasoning; instinctive.
35: Quick-witted:Â showing or characterized by an ability to think or respond quickly and effectively.
36: Interrupting:Â breaking the continuity of a conversation with oneâs own statements.
37: Doodling: to scribble or make rough drawings, absent-mindedly.
38: Irritable:Â having or showing a tendency to be easily annoyed.
39: Gambling: to play games of chance for money; bet.
40: Travel-sick:Â suffering from nausea caused by the motion of a moving vehicle, boat, or aircraft.
41: Sensitive:Â having or displaying a quick and delicate appreciation of othersâ feelings.
42: Melancholy:Â a feeling of pensive sadness, typically with no obvious cause.
43: Chewing gum: the exercise of chewing flavoured gum which is not intended for swallowing.
44: Fidgeting: to make small movements, especially of the hands and feet, through nervousness or impatience.
45:Â Skeptical:Â not easily convinced; having doubts or reservations.
46: Neat-freak:Â compulsively obsessed with cleanliness.Â
47: Gossiping:Â divulging personal information about others.
48: Prim: feeling or showing disapproval of anything regarded as improper; stiffly correct.
49: Abbreviating:Â Giving others nicknames/shortening names/giving pet names.
50: Having a catchphrase: having a sentence or phrase typically associated with a specific person.Â
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